How Cliché
by abbyevan
Summary: Three teenagers, two girls and a boy. No parents. Truth or Dare. What could be more cliché than that? Twoshot, Loliver.
1. Chapter 1

**Heyheyhey, I'm back, with another Loliver (because that's the only HM pairing I really plan to ship). It's from a short story I wrote, so it didn't turn out as well because it means I had to transfer from different names and a New York setting, which happens to be how all my short stories are written. Oh well. Enjoy! **

**Special Mentions:**

**skating babe**** – Miranda, even in one of her drama queen hours, helped me out with this fic. Thankyouthankyouthankyou! (And if my other bff Oreo had an account, you know she'd be here! Thanks for the support and suggestions, guys!)**

**Disclaimer: You think that I own Hannah Montana? Pshwaffle! (Inside joke, don't ask) If I did own HM, Lilly and Oliver would be dating by now. Durh.**

**I also don't own any of the brand names listed here. Should be obvious. You'd think it'd be obvious. And yet we have these. What**_**ever.**_

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I crossed and uncrossed my eyes. Across the table, Miley did the same. Oliver stuck his tongue out at the both of us.

"I'm bored," Miley said, her nose crinkling, as if disgusted by the very thought of boredom.

"So am I," I admitted, leaning back in my chair and crossing my feet to prop on my kitchen table. I fingered a strand of blonde hair, twisting it around in contemplation of my next move.

Oliver's brown eyes sparkled.

"I know!"

"Really?"

"Yes. Don't interrupt when I'm in the middle of a revelation, Lilly." I rolled my eyes at him.

"Wouldn't _dream_ of it, Ollie." Oliver rolled his eyes at me in turn.

"Let's play Truth or Dare!"

I looked at Oliver's expectant face with an indifferent look.

"Wow, how original of you. How many other _brilliant_ teen movie clichés are you thinking of using tonight?"

Miley tossed a salt packet across the table at my head.

"Great idea, Oliver."

"Thank you, _Miley_. I do take pride in my achievements."

"When you manage to get any," I said dryly, moving my sneakers off the table, but sighing in surrender. "Who's asking first?"

"I will!" Miley said, scooting her chair closer to the table so she could see Oliver and me better. She pointed an imperious finger at Oliver's chest. He looked back defiantly, meeting her eyes and locking her gaze. For some reason, my stomach gave a strange twinge. I looked down, wondering if it was the fault of a lunch from McDonald's. It was just fast food, right?

_Right._

"Oliver." Miley said, her eyes narrowing.

"Has anyone ever told you pointing is rude?" Oliver replied.

Miley's hand dropped to the table, but her squinting gaze remained.

"Truth or dare, Oken?"

Oliver leaned back in his chair with a pensive look, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling for a moment before swiveling back to Miley.

"Dare."

Miley smirked.

"Hm…"

She stood, her fingers tapping against her chin in thought as she walked around behind Oliver.

"What dare could I _possibly-"_ she said this directly into Oliver's ear, her eyes glinting- "give to Oliver here, Lils?" She said as she circled around my kitchen table.

I shrugged at her, looking at my nails.

Miley rolled her eyes at my lack of inspiration and continued pacing. Her eyes flickered between Oliver and different objects in the room, until suddenly she snapped her fingers.

"Got it, _yes!_"

She turned on her heel and walked to my fridge, throwing it open and going on her knees.

Miley rooted around, arm-deep, in the overstocked shelves of food.

She frowned and pulled her hand out with a bag of greasy breakfast sausages dangling between thumb and forefinger.

"Lilly, what are these?"

I looked at them, then looked at her with an innocent expression.

"Elf penises."

Miley raised an eyebrow at me.

"They look like breakfast sausages."

"They are."

She threw them back into the fridge with a disgusted expression as Oliver laughed.

"No… not that… no- ew! Lilly, why is there month-old cream cheese in here?"

"What else are we supposed to feed Sweeny?"

Miley rolled her eyes, returning to digging through my vegetable drawer, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "I can't believe you named a beagle after a fictional serial killer."

"A-_ha!_"

Oliver visibly winced.

But Miley's prize was nothing but a beaten red apple, bouncing up and down in her palm.

"That's it?" Oliver said, sounding almost disappointed. Almost, if not for the fact he had been dreading what Miley could dare him to do with a whole gross refrigerator at her disposal.

"Oh no, Oliver, you're not going to _eat _this." She said, a mischievous grin alighting her face, as she saw Oliver's scared look.

"I'm not?"

"Oh, no. This, my friend, you have to _drink._"

Oliver and I both looked at her in disbelief.

"How do you propose we _drink_ an apple? Do you just stick a straw in it, or what?" I said skeptically.

"No, we _liquefy _it, peel, core, seeds and _all._"

Oliver's face contorted in horror.

"Eew, Miles, that's… ew."

"I know. I'm a genius."

Ten minutes and a food processor later, Oliver sat at a table with an ominous-looking light brown, thick liquid in a glass on the table in front of him.

"Do I… have to?"

"Yes!" Miley nudged Oliver's arm with her own eagerly.

Oliver sighed, and gritted his teeth. He gripped the glass, lifting it to look at the contents inside.

He lifted it to Miley and me in turn.

"Cheers."

He downed it in three gulps.

Miley and I watched in silent trepidation, waiting for Oliver to puke, or something along those lines.

"Well?" I asked, as Oliver moved his mouth around in contemplation of its taste.

"That was… wow. Think Motts, but grainy-ish."

Miley looked disappointed at the lack of effect, but she was obviously too anxious for another dare to make a big deal about it.

"Okay, Ollie, choose." I told him.

"Lilly."

"What?"

"I choose you."

"For what?"

Oliver hit my arm.

I smiled sweetly at him.

"Truth or dare, Lilly."

"Dare."

I knew immediately that setting my brain on 'shuffle' hadn't exactly been a great idea, but too late now.

"Dare you to… take your shirt off."

I gaped at him, comprehension dawning slowly.

"Why, Oliver Oken, I do believe that there's an adolescent boy under there!"

Oliver turned red.

"Shut up and do the dare, Lils."

"I- oh, fine."

I pulled my tank top over my head, dropping it to the floor as I could get it off me. I heard a small gasp escape Oliver's mouth, and if possible, he turned redder than before.

_I picked a good day to wear this bra._

Oliver's eyes dropped to the table, but Miley was, for some reason, beaming at me. Aware of her gaze, I crossed my arms self-consciously over my chest.

"_What?_"

"You're wearing the Victoria's Secret one! I got you that set for your birthday!"

"Set?" Oliver's head snapped back up. His face was its normal color again, apparently the shock of me looking good half naked had worn off.

"Yeah, it was a set. Black bra, black panties. I got it-" Miley stopped at the look on my face. "What?"

A flush crept into my neck as Oliver smirked. He reached forward, fingering my bra strap.

"Guess we can use Lilly's next dare then, huh Miles. Gotta see if Lilly's matching…" He let his finger slide back down my arm. I felt goosebumps start, but it wasn't cold. I shivered involuntarily.

Oliver looked taken aback for a moment. I jerked away from him.

"I'm cold. Let's get on with this, okay?"

"Uh- your turn, Lils." Miley said, looking uncertainly between the two of us.

"Oliver."

"What? I just went!"

"See if I care."

"Fine. Dare."

I looked at him, squinting at Oliver's scowling features.

"Take _your _shirt off."

Oliver shrugged, and grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt, lifting it up and over his head. I bit back a gasp. I didn't expect him to look _good._

_Damn._

Oliver's chest was, by some method of muscle sculpting known only to boys, perfect. I was almost openly gaping.

"Ooh, you've been working out, Oliver." Miley said in admiration.

Wordlessly, I stretched a hand out, fingers brushing his breastbone, then running down his torso until my hand rested against his flat stomach.

I drew back quickly, folding my arms over my knees as I drew them up to my chest, my blue eyes fixed onto Oliver's chocolate ones. I was almost sure he was panting.

"Your turn, Oliver."

Slowly, in an almost comical way, our heads moved to Miley as one. She looked at both of our steady gazes and backed up a step.

"Oh, no. I am _not _taking off my shirt. Truth."

My wrist hit the table with a smack.

"Mi_ley_, you fun-crusher."

"I am, and I'm proud."

But Oliver seemed intrigued by the prospects of a truthful answer to any question he may ask.

"Do you have, or have you ever had, a crush on any of the people in this room?"

"Don't you mean you?" Miley said.

"Nope."

"I d- Oh my God, Oliver, what is wrong with you?"

He grinned.

"Answer the questio-o-on…"

"_Fine._ You-" she pointed at Oliver, and my chest felt horribly tight for a second."-for about a _week_ in third grade." I relaxed.

"And _Lilly_." She glared at Oliver before turning to face me. "For about two seconds when I was in my _nonexistent_ lesbian stage."

"Don't take her word for it, she wants to fuck you right now. You look sexy without a shirt on." Oliver said in a carrying whisper.

Miley whirled around in fury and grabbed for the shirt Oliver didn't have on, instead only succeeding in raking a vicious swipe of her hand across Oliver's chest, but it was enough to knock him off his seat, backwards and onto the floor.

By sheer coincidence, Miley moved Oliver's chair towards me as I jumped up to make sure he was all right.

So it was a complete and _total_ accident that I tripped over the chair that suddenly hit my knees and went crashing into my best friend's chest.

Best friend's _bare_ chest.

Without a shirt on me, either. Hm.

I think we both lay there in shock for a few moments, our legs tangled together. I think I liked it that way, anyway.

That state didn't last very long, though, and soon I was giggling into the front of his shirt- s_kin._ That felt great to say.

"You really think I'm sexy, Oliver?" I said, my mouth moving quietly against his collarbone.

I felt him blush, but he murmured a yes into my ear all the same.

"Should I leave before you two have floor sex or something?"

Oliver and I both struggled up. I'm not sure how we managed to get untangled and standing upright, but it involved a lot of head bumping and girlish shrieks (I'm not sure all of those were from me).

A few minutes later, we were seated around my kitchen table again, me nursing a bruised shin and Oliver a twisted finger.

"My turn!"

We both turned to Miley's glowing face. She pointed a pink nail at Oliver, eyes narrowing.

"You can't really expect me to let that go, do you, Oken?"

"Use of my last name, bad omen. I pick truth."

Miley's eyes squinted to the point I was surprised she could still see out of them.

"Same question you asked me."

Oliver shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking at the floor. We all knew Miley had asked a good question. (Or, in Oliver's case, not so good.)

"Well…"

"Out with it, Oliver!"

Oliver shot an irritated glare her way, but she took no notice of the venom and met his eyes in a finalizing manner.

"Okay, fine. Miley here- about an hour in fourth grade."

"And Lilly here?" I asked from across the table. His answer was next to inaudible.

"Didn't catch that?" Miley asked, putting an ear an inch away from Oliver's face.

"I _said_, Lilly."

"How long?"

He glanced between the two of us.

"Longer than that." He said, a blush starting in his cheeks.

"And when?"

"No comment."

I looked at Oliver's mess of brown hair, as his eyes were staring into his lap. But his head snapped up when Miley prodded him to remind him that it was his turn.

"Miley."

I rolled my eyes, wondering if I was ever going to get picked again. I focused my attention to a ficus next to my sliding glass door. A ficus… A ficus named Fern. I almost laughed.

"NO!" Miley shrieked. Apparently Oliver was getting his revenge.

"No way, no way, no!"

"You have to, it's a dare."

"I- no! Lilly will never agree to that. Would you Lilly?"

"That depends- agree to what?"

"Oliver wants us to- eurgh, he wants us-"

"You and Miley have to kiss."

I blinked. Twice.

Then I realized what Oliver said.

"I side with Miley."

"Sorry- that's the rule."

"What rule? There are no rules. I spit on rules. I am _not _going to kiss _Miley!_"

"Do it. Doooo it!" Oliver said in a creepy imitation of me.

"I- aw, come on, Ollie, why can't you get horny off Internet porn instead of us?"

"If it means you'll do it…"

I looked at Miley. She crossed her arms but huffed in defeat.

"You're gonna get it, Oliver Oken."

Miley stood in front of me, fists curling and releasing at her sides in anxiety.

I screwed my eyes shut and puckered my lips.

It was over as soon as it had begun- Oliver had only asked for a peck. But Miley and I both ran for the bathroom as soon as we could, the sooner to get to the Listerine.

After ten minutes of rinsing (and five minutes of plotting), Miley and I returned, a plan for Oliver's demise by dare already planned.

Simultaneously, Miley and I walked to one side of Oliver, and slammed our hands down on the table at the same time, probably shocking him out of his wits, but we weren't done yet.

"Alright Oken." I said in a dangerous voice. Oliver's head whipped to face me I inhaled subtly, smelling graham crackers. _Mmm!_

"We tried to play nice." Miley continued from Oliver's other side. He turned his head to face Miley, but in a sudden inspiration I grabbed his chin and twisted it back to face me.

"But you've pushed us too far." I said, practically into his mouth. Our lips were an inch away. _So- close- no! Restrain yourself, Lillian Rose._

"Um, your-uh, your breath smells nice!" Oliver said, laughing nervously as I released him, but there was more to come.

"Pick, young Oliver!" I swear there was lightning and thunder when Miley talked.

"Pick? Pick what?"

"Truth or dare!" Miley yelled into his ear.

"DARE!" Oliver screamed, rocketing out of his chair to back away from us.

Evil laughter played somewhere as Miley and I walked towards Oliver, grinning maliciously.

"No- no! I meant, I meant _truth!_ Please, not a dare!"

"Too late." Miley said.

"Miley, tell him what his dare is!"

"Oliver Oken, your dare is that you have to have a big, sloppy-"

"Yeah?" I drew out the word into Oliver's ear. He flinched.

"_Wet-"_

"Yeah?" Oliver whimpered in terror.

"_**Fifteen seconds at least-long**_-"

"Yeah?" I was cackling, Oliver was shrinking back into a corner.

"_Kiss with Lilly Truscott!_"

"Ye- _what?!_"

I stopped advancing on Oliver, he collapsed to the floor, and Miley looked like her grin was going to slide off of her face.

"What?" Oliver exclaimed from his place on the floor.

"Have fun!" Miley sat at my kitchen table to watch.

"Holy crap Miley, this isn't _funny!_"

"'Course it's not. So I'm just going to sit here and… embrace the suffering." She smirked at the pair of us.

"I…" I groaned. "I think we should just… do it. It'll shut her up."

"I heard that!"

"You were supposed to!"

Oliver stood slowly, some form of decision going on in his eyes.

"I'l be timing you!" Miley informed us cheerily, holding up her watch with a gleeful expression.

"What?"

"At least fifteen seconds, remember?"

"_Fifteen?_"

"Good luck."

I groaned again and looked again to Oliver, and found my eyes at Oliver's nose. I'd forgotten how Oliver was much taller when we were that much closer to each other.

_I'm just going to pretend I don't want to do it. I mean, at least fifteen seconds of me and Oliver, with neither of us wearing a shirt, kissing. Why in the world would I want _that

I flicked my eyes up to met Oliver's. His eye twinkled, and he put his hands at my bare waist. My skin tingled. His light fingers slid down my hips to hold my hands.

My breathing came shorter as he leaned forward, inch by trembling inch, and in impatience I went up on my toes and kissed my best friend on the mouth.

I think that somehow he let go of my hands without me noticing, but I didn't bother complaining, as it left my hands free to tangle in his hair as his arms wound around my waist.

Miley coughed loudly, and we broke apart.

Oliver and I both dropped our arms and trekked back to our seats.

Miley swiveled around in her seat to face us.

"That was more than fifteen seconds." She accused us. But she was smiling, for some strange reason.

"That was… um. Wow." Oliver traced a pattern on the tabletop with his forefinger. "Lilly."

I remained silent.

"Lilly?"

I looked up.

"Say something."

I looked from Miley to Oliver and back again, then shrugged, moving back in my chair, putting my feet on the table in a way strangely reminiscent of my posture earlier that day.

"Three words. Oliver." I held up three fingers to show him. "Three words can describe what just happened."

"And those words would be?" He looked at me expectantly.

"Teenage. Movie. Cliché."

The rest of night was a free-for-all pillow fight.

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**Aw, no, it doesn't end here. Epilogue next chapter, R + R!**


	2. Epilogue, sorta

**Wow- third finished fic in a **_**day**_**. I'm on fire!**

**Hooray for the finally finished in-progress!**

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Stupid, stupid, shirt.

I had no idea where the tank top had disappeared to in the pillow fight, and I cursed Oliver for making me take it off.

Or not- topless pillow fight?

Fun.

"_Shit._" I muttered under my breath as I kicked a pillow aside and the shirt wasn't there.

"Looking for something?"

_Oh, fuck._ I thought. _I thought Oliver and Miley were gone._

"Maybe," I said, turning. "I thought you left."

"Miley left. I still need my shirt, don't I?"

"I bet you do."

"Could you possibly be looking for _your_ shirt?"

I gave him a sour look and turned to my couch, bending to move another couple of displaced pillows.

"Maybe."

I bit the inside of my cheek when Oliver stood next to me.

"Are you going to help me or not?" I straightened to look up into Oliver's face. My eyes gave an involuntary flick downwards at his still-bare chest.

"Oh, I don't know, what's in it for me?"

I raised my eyebrow at him, and he winked, leaning forward.

I caught my breath, but I saw Oliver's arm behind me and turned my head slightly to see him fingering my shirt, on top of a cabinet.

"Thank you," I said quietly, and turned back to him.

"No problem…" Oliver said distractedly. His arm went back to his side, but my shirt wasn't there.

"Um, Oliver?" I said, but he put a finger to my lips. However light the touch, my mouth tingled and my lips parted. Oliver grinned.

"Do you really need that shirt?" He whispered, stepping closer so that our waists were touching. The contact made my knees go weak, but I kept myself up.

"Do you need yours?" I answered.

He proceeded with the nonverbal answer.

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**Okay, not perfect, but what do you expect at midnight? I thought it was cute, and the story finally has an ending. Ah well- review, guys!**


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